The Bullet that is Love
by bluecascade
Summary: Sherlock has feelings for John but he has always hid them. When a tragic accident happens, things start to change. Johnlock and maybe Mystrade and/or Mormor.
1. The Bullet

**A/N: Hi everyone! This is going to be an actual story, not just oneshots. Enjoy :). Oh yeah, this switches perspectives (between John and Sherlock) quite a bit, so try to pay attention.**

"Run, John!" And so he did. He ran as fast as he could, his breath coming in raggedy gasps. John was running so fast that he didn't see the body, lying in wait. He didn't see the gun pointed at him, or the bullet hurdling towards his chest.

"John…?" Sherlock didn't see his blogger anywhere. And then he realized where the gunshot had come from. "NOOO!" Sherlock sprinted back into the alley, not caring how much trash he stepped in.

His chest hurt so much…it was burning with a searing pain…worse than a thousand suns…he was slowly losing consciousness…

"John! NO! Don't die, please, please, please…" A tear trickled down his face. Sherlock called 911 and began the CPR process. Obviously just pumping his chest wouldn't work…Sherlock leaned in and dispersed air into John's lungs.

John's eyelids fluttered open. He felt Sherlock squeezing his hand and telling him to just hold on until the ambulance came.

Sherlock was crying for real when the ambulance came. He watched as they loaded John onto a bright orange stretcher. The paramedics let Sherlock sit in the back with John. He held John's rough, weathered hand all the way to the hospital, absentmindedly stroking it with his thumb. Once in the hospital, Sherlock kissed the sleeping John softly. "Please stay."

John felt himself waking up. He was surrounded by white and a sterile stench. Where was he? Why did…_FUCKING GOD OW_…his chest hurt so badly? _I was shot…Sherlock and I were running and then someone ambushed me. _Where was Sherlock? Was he hurt too? _No…he…did he _kiss _me? If he did, it felt…exhilarating._ "S-Sherlock?" He croaked.

Sherlock's head snapped up. "John? Are you awake?" The detective's eyes were still red from crying.

"Yes." John decided not to mention the kiss. It might have been the drugs screwing with his head. "Am I going to be okay?"

Sherlock almost started crying again. John looked so innocent…like a child with cancer who didn't know they were receiving a death sentence. "I…I don't know. The bullet missed your heart but…" His sentence trailed off. _Haha. How ironic. _He had been in this position not that long ago, but he had been the one laying on the hospital bed. And they had both gotten wounds to the chest, nearly missing the heart. The detective must have accidentally laughed out loud, because John had an odd look on his face. "I'm sorry it's just…this is so ironic, because three months ago, I was the one lying in the hospital bed."

"Ahh…" _And Mary had put him there. Mary! Where was Mary? _"Where's Mary?"

"Mary is…" He had totally forgotten about Mary. How she was the one who had shot his precious John, how they had dragged her away.

"Is what?" A look of shock came over John's features. "She shot me, didn't she? Just like she shot you."


	2. Mumbling and Sleeping

**A/N: This is a really lame and really short chapter. Sorry. **

Sherlock gave John a long, forlorn look. "Yes." John wanted to scream _Why? Why? WHY? _But he couldn't because of his stupid chest.

"Why?" Sherlock just shook his head sadly. He was so gorgeous… John mentally slapped himself. _You can't like him. He's married to his work. _"What…about the…baby?" The detective's brilliant blue eyes widened.

"Oh…the baby." Leave it to Sherlock to forget about something Mary being pregnant. "Mary got caught, she's in prison now. Mycroft got her a private cell so he could watch her. It's under very high security, obviously. I think that the deal he made with her was that she could keep the baby, but she had to give it to you to parent. Clearly."

"So…she wants me…to raise it?" John speaks softly so as to minimize the pain in his chest.

"If you want to."

"I do." John's eyelids are getting heavy "Look…I need to…sleep." His head droops, and he falls asleep instantly, his breath ragged. Sherlock instantly feels badly for keeping John up. He walks over to the army doctor's bed and strokes his hair. "You really are a soldier, aren't you? Always downplaying your pain…" He sees that John has turned the morphine all the way down. So brave...always fighting. Pale fingers turn the morphine up. "Let me ease your fight, just this once." He leans down and kisses the sleeping man's forehead.

It's only when Sherlock leaves John's side that he questions his…infatuation. _Sentiment is a chemical defect. He's straight. He'll never love you back. Why are you trying? It will distract from your work. Oh shut up! _He shook his head as if to clear the thoughts. Sherlock tries to solve a case Lestrade gave him to keep his mind off of John. The detective solves it in about a minute. All thoughts turn back to the soldier. _He's so handsome…in that rugged, weathered way…stop. You should _not _be thinking like this. _Sherlock wants to punch something. His long violinists' fingers clench in fists, his jaw clenches. He begins to pace around the room, muttering to himself.

John is silently watching all of this. Sherlock hasn't realized that he's awake. _What is he muttering about? Wait…did he just say my name? Did he say…love? _John's brain tells him it's the drugs but his heart says otherwise. Before he can further debate the matter, he falls back asleep.


	3. Deleted

**A/N: Ok so this chapter is more about Mycroft and Sherlock than Johnlock, but I hope you enjoy! Don't forget to review, favorite, and follow!**

Another day has passed. John is sleeping and Sherlock is slumped over in an uncomfortable plastic chair trying to stay awake. Just as Sherlock is about to drift off, the door bursts open. In walk Mycroft and Lestrade, hand in hand. Sherlock feels something breaking inside of him. "No! You don't get to show off your affection when the love of my life might die! Go away!" The detective has never hated his brother more than now. Mycroft's face twists angrily and he shoos a shocked Greg out.

"Do _not _insult my boyfriend." His voice is dripping poison. Sherlock is too full of rage to be afraid.

"You were too busy making out with your precious Lestrade to come see me?"

"I came as soon as I could."

"John got shot a week ago! That is absolutely _not _as soon as you could. You abandoned me, Mycroft. Just like you always have." Mycroft is silent for a long time, tears trickling down his face.

"You didn't used to hate me. I used to be your best friend."

"You were never my friend."

"You…you deleted it? HOW COULD YOU DELETE _ME? _YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER BASTARD!"

"Of course I deleted it. You abandoned me for boarding school. To a small child, that is traumatic."

"It's not fucking traumatic!" Sherlock is shocked. Mycroft never swears. "You are no brother of mine. I was happy on my own. I never wanted a burdensome little brother who always fucks up his life." Sherlock is truly hurt by this and starts sobbing. Suddenly, a wall in his mind palace his knocked down and a flood of memories invade his brain. Mycroft playing pirates with him, Mycroft helping him with homework, Mycroft making fun of people with him, Mycroft rushing him to the hospital when he overdosed.  
>"I…I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry." He blubbers. Mycroft wraps his arms around Sherlock.<p>

"Do you remember now?" He whispers softly. Sherlock nods into his brother's shoulder. They pull apart. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes." He wants to apologize but all that comes out is "Tell Greg you love him. I never did, and I may not ever get the chance. Please." Mycroft is pleasantly appalled at this. Sherlock _never _remembers Greg's name. Not to mention he appears incapable of feelings, but we all know that's not true.

"I will." Mycroft turns on his heels and exits the room. _I should take my own advice, _Sherlock thinks. So he does. He take off his shoes and lays down next to John. As he falls asleep, the detective feels his blogger's arm pull him closer.


	4. Tin Man

**A/N: I'm sooooo sorry I haven't updated in forever! I've been super busy with school and I've had writers block for the longest time. Don't hate me :$**

John had been home from the hospital for two weeks and both men were still avoiding the whole Sherlock-climbing-into-John's-bed thing. It was kind of awkward, actually. Sherlock and John just kind of avoided each other. The closest they got was when they went out on cases together, but John was busy with work a lot of the time, so he didn't always go. John could feel the tension building, but he had no idea how to go about it. _What if Sherlock climbing into my bed meant absolutely nothing? _He was too afraid to say anything, so he just tried to forget about it.

"I'm going grocery shopping. Do you need anything?"

"Nope," Sherlock replied, popping the p.

"Alright then." John grabbed his coat and stepped out into the rain. He decided to walk anyway because he needed to think. Meanwhile, in the flat, Sherlock was in his mind palace trying to solve a case. _No…it couldn't have been the lawyer, she had been out drinking the night before. It could have been the…John…the wife. Yes, the wife. Where's John? _His thoughts kept getting interrupted by John. _Why can't I think? I need a smoke. _Sherlock lifted up the skull and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. He exited 221B and leaned against the door. Pale hands cup around the cigarette so as to shelter the fleeting flame from the rain.

Sherlock took a long drag on the cigarette. He stayed there, just smoking in the rain, for a long time.

John returned to find a wet Sherlock. "Why are you wet?"

"I took a shower."

"No you didn't. You smell like smoke. I could have gotten you more nicotine patches, you know."

"I _have _nicotine patches."

"Well then why are you smoking?" John looked exasperated.

"I couldn't think." The blogger just sighed and shook his head as he finished unpacking the groceries.

"Sherlock will you _please _get the head out of the fridge? It might contaminate the groceries."

"No. It's for an experiment."

"I don't care! Get it out of the fridge! I'm sorry, but I actually want to eat instead of just sulking on the couch!" Sherlock was shocked. John never got angry. "Oh? Surprised are you? Surprised that I put up with all your shit? You think it doesn't affect me? WELL IT FUCKING AFFECTS ME!"

"I…"

"Shut up! Just shut up! I don't want to hear your apologies. You're right. You don't have any emotions. You're just a metallic, cold-hearted, tin man." Sherlock stood up and slowly walked to his room, tears trickling down his face.


	5. Drinking the Pain Away

**A/N: Wow two chapters in a row? I hope this will tide you over until I get to write again because this week is going to be really busy. Sorry guys! Ily! **

John angrily left the flat. He walked and walked and walked until he wasn't upset anymore. He didn't even care about the rain that was assaulting him. _I was wrong. I actually hurt Sherlock… _The blogger felt himself walking towards a bar. _No. You can't just drink away the pain. _He entered the bar and sat down. John ordered a scotch or maybe two. He sat there, nursing his drink for a long time. "What's wrong mate? Your girl get in a fight with you?"

"Something like that." Even in his buzzed state, he could tell that this guy was attractive. He had spiky brown hair and mysterious green-blue eyes with a muscled jaw. John mentally slapped himself. _You shouldn't be thinking like that. And you have Sherlock… Sherlock doesn't want you. Shut up! You're the one who hurt him. _

"Aw well that sucks mate."

"Yeah."

When he finally stumbled out of the bar, his feet turned him around and led him back to the black lacquered door. He almost hesitated to go in, but his feet made him plunder on. Mrs. Hudson caught him on the way up.

"Did you two have a domestic?"

"Something like that," He muttered. He was saying that a lot lately.

"You've been drinking!"

"Yeah, and you've been smoking weed."

"Well! I never…" A flustered Mrs. Hudson fluttered off, waving her hands. John tipsily made his way upstairs and knocked on Sherlock's door.

"Sherlock… it's me…"

"John…"

"Something like that." _Haha. It's my new catchphrase._

"You've been drinking."

"Mrs. Hudson said that too…" His body fell against the door and it flew open, depositing John on the ground. "What just happened…?" And then his vision went black.

Sherlock gingerly picked John up. He was breathing; he just blacked out and not something far worse. "Shit shit shit! What do I do? Mrs. Hudson!"

"What was that crash?"

"John…he was leaning against my door and it flew open. He landed on his head. I think he passed out from a combination of alcohol and just plain impact." Sherlock felt John's head. There wasn't a bump. "There's no bump on his head…"

"I think he'll be alright if you just let him sleep. He'll have a wicked hangover in the morning but he'll be fine."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

"Anytime, dearie." As soon as Mrs. Hudson left, he carried John into his bed. He thought about sleeping on the couch, but his heart won out. Sherlock climbed into bed and threw and arm around his blogger and pulled him tight.


	6. Three Words

**A/N: You can probably guess what the three words are. Hehehehe. *Smiles manically* **

Sunlight was streaming through the curtains, and assailing John's eyes. "What…? Where am I?"

"Oh you're awake!" Sherlock's voice sounded distant.

"Where are you?"

"In the kitchen." John rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and went to grab some clothes when realized he wasn't in his room. _Wait…why am I in Sherlock's room? And why am I wearing the same clothes as yesterday? Oh…right. _Although he somewhat remembered yesterday's events, some of the details were still fuzzy. He made his way into the kitchen and sat down.

"What happened yesterday?"

"You went off in a rage and got yourself intoxicated. Eventually you got home."

"And…?"

"You were leaning against my door and fell backwards. You passed out from too much alcohol and impact. I moved you into my bed because it was closest."

"So that explains my pounding headache." Sherlock tossed him some Aspirin. "Thanks… but why do you have Aspirin lying around?"

"I don't. Mrs. Hudson had some, said you might need it." John just raised an eyebrow in response as he swished down the Aspirin. The detective turned around and began messing with some experiment of his. John sat in silence, mulling the fight over. _Does Sherlock forgive me? Did something else happen last night that he isn't telling me?_

"John."

"What?"

"You have questions."

"How…never mind. Yes, actually." John sucked in and exhaled. "Uhm…uh…do you forgive me?"

Brilliant cyan eyes met his. Sherlock's perfect bow lips formed in an O. "Yes."

"Good."

"You still have another question." Curly raven hair was visible above various chemistry instruments. John fiddled, unsure of whether to ask or not.

"Did…did anything else happen last night?" Heat bloomed inside Sherlock's cheeks. _Why am I so flustered? What is going on? You know what's going on, you dolt. _Mycroft's voice unpleasantly permeated the detective's thoughts. _I am _not _infatuated with John. Oh yes you are, brother dear. Be careful you don't end up on the losing side. Shut up, Mycroft. You blathering hypocrite. _"Sherlock? Are you okay?"

"I am fine."

"Something happened other than just me being drunk." Sherlock buried his face in his hands. John placed a warm hand on the small of his back and rubbed. "It's okay, Sherlock. I'm not going to get mad."

"John…"

"What?" His voice was soft.

"I'm not married to my work."

John laughed. "Okay."

"I…" He felt something wet making its way down his face. _Why am I crying? This is stupid. _

"Sherlock…" John wrapped his arms around Sherlock.

"John, why…why are you doing this?"

"I love you." Sherlock looks up, face almost touching John's; blue eyes that conveyed he was serious. Sherlock found himself leaning closer until he met John's lips with his. The blogger startled at first but then deepened the kiss, feeling his dream become reality. Eventually they were forced to pull away and sat, drinking in the other's features. John's eyes traced Sherlock's beautiful sharp cheekbones all the way up to his eyes that were pools of the most gorgeous waters possible.

"I feel that three overused words of some idiot human's construct are an inadequate way to express devotion."

"Oh really?" John tilted his head up, and their lips merged once more.


	7. Alleyways

**A/N: Hi again! Sorry for not writing, I was busy with my new Teen!Lock fic, Duets. I'd love it if you checked it out! Thanks! 3**

**P.S. See if you can spot the Panic! At The Disco reference. Oh yeah, the title is a song reference as well. Hehe.**

Sherlock's phone was the first thing John heard. "Really Sherlock? At…nine in the afternoon?"

"You mean nine in the morning."

"No shit, Sherlock." Even though he was bleary-eyed with sleep, he could still see his detective smirk.

"Get out of bed, John. Lestrade has a case for us." John just grunted and rolled out of bed. Sherlock was already fully dressed and was practically jumping. Meanwhile, John was still in his underwear. The blogger felt eyes watching him. Sherlock was tracing John with his eyes, and he stopped on John's scar, the scar that represented his bravery, his courage.

"Sherlock…seriously?"

"What? I'm not allowed to appreciate your physical attributes?" John shook his head, but there was a smile playing on his lips.

"Let's solve that case."

**Later…**

"…Clearly the wife, given the slight hint of cyanide on her fingers…"

"But we ran tests on her! I don't know how we missed that." Lestrade interjected.

"You didn't look hard enough…now let me think." He scanned the body further, looking deep into its crevasses and folds. She was a young woman, maybe 25, who worked an office job down the street. How funny that someone who looked so stupid could be so clever. "She's 25, worked an office job. Her boyfriend, the murder victim was clearly abusive. She couldn't stand it, and she killed him."

"Okay…but why is she dead?"

"Gavin, it's simple, really. She couldn't live with herself after killing him and took the rest of the cyanide."

"My name is Greg." Sherlock was about to retort back, but John squeezed his hand and shushed him.

"Is that enough information for you?"

"I believe so. Thanks, Sherlock." Sherlock turned on his heel, John following behind like a lost puppy.

"Where are we going?" John asked breathlessly. They were in what appeared to be an alley and John suddenly crumpled to the ground. _Me…running…the bullet…the searing pain…Sherlock screaming my name… _

"John!" Sherlock sprinted back, picking up John and cradling him in his arms. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Please. Tell me." The detective looked straight into John's eyes, seeing all the pain floating on their surface.

"I don't really like alleys." And then he realized.

"Oh…No…I'm so sorry John." He ran his hands through the blogger's sandy hair. "Please…please forgive me."

"It's okay. You weren't thinking."

"No…I really was not. I don't ever want to hurt you, John. Never."

"Thank you." Sherlock gently kissed John's forehead. "Now let's get something to eat." Sherlock smiled. The detective and the blogger ran off, hand in hand.


	8. Deployed

**A/N: FEELS AHEAD *Grins evilly* *Rubs hands together while cackling.* This is a really short chapter, sorry.**

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I have no choice."

"Please…please don't go. I can't lose you."

"It's my duty."

"Why don't you just stay working at the surgery?"

"It's not enough. I _have _do this, Sherlock."

"But you'll get hurt or…killed." He says the last word softly and looks straight into John's eyes. He can't go back to Afghanistan. He just can't.

"Sherlock…"

"Please don't die, John."

"I won't." Sherlock pulls John into him and their lips crash together. When they finally pull away, breathless, the detective speaks again.

"Don't let this be the last time I do this."

"Sherlock! I'm _not_ going to die!"

"But you just recovered from a bullet wound to the chest! You really shouldn't be going back into a land of crossfire."

"I am a fucking _doctor, _Sherlock. The wound has healed enough." Sherlock begins to cry, tears streaming down his pale face. "Sherlock…"

"No. You call me mechanical and then get mad at me for caring about you. You can't have it both ways."

"I…" John swipes the tears off of his detective's face. "I'm sorry. I just…I'm sorry." Sherlock curls into a ball, burrowing into the chair. John curls up next to him and strokes his hair. "Let's just live for right now. We'll worry about reality in the morning." Sherlock nods into John's shoulder. Eventually, both detective and blogger fall asleep, all their worries forgotten.


	9. Hear Me

**A/N: Hehe sorry I'm so evil I know. This chapter is from a sort of "god" perspective so yeah. Yes, Imagine Dragons title hehe.**

Enter the black lacquered door marked with a brass "221B." Walk up the stairs and the door creaks, giving way to a messy apartment. There is musty light filtering in through the big window straight ahead. To your left, there is the fleur-de-lis wallpaper with bullet holes and a yellow smiley face painted on. On the right, there's the fallow fireplace where Sherlock's skull friend rests. Follow the fireplace, and make your way into the kitchen, where body parts are more common than fruit in the fridge. Wait, go back. Back to the living room, where there is a saggy couch and two chairs. One yours, one Sherlock's. There is a gaunt man with greasy black hair slumped over in the leather chair. His pale arm is marked with pin pricks, his once crystal clear blue eyes glazed over. Tiptoe to him and feel his pulse, just a faint flicker in his veins. He's delirious from the drugs he uses to try and bring you back. You are a shadow to him, you are not real, just a figment of his imagination. He stirs, moaning softly. "Sherlock! Can you hear me?"


	10. The Start of Something

**A/N: Sorry 221btribute. Sorry to everyone because feels. **

"Sherlock! Sherlock!" John gently shakes the dying man. A groan escapes the detective's lips. "Shit, shit, shit." The blogger runs to the phone and dials 999. "My friend… he's overdosed. Please come quickly, the address is 221B Baker Street." He turns to Sherlock, his heart pounding with fear. "Stay with me, Sherlock. Please."

The ambulance screams as they cart him away. John hails a cab and stares into the rain as the city flies by. How stupid that something so joyful could be ruined. He's not mad at Sherlock, no. He's mad at himself, for leaving and thinking Sherlock would be okay. Of course he would go back to the drugs, the liquid substance that filled the hole in his heart.

The hospital is sterile and cold. It feels more like the morgue than a hospital. Hospitals are so depressing, always emphasizing death. But what about all the people that hospitals save? What about those people? Shouldn't we focus on how there are hundreds of people that are saved every day? Of course, we should be respectful of those lost, but we can still revel in the living. John hopes that he will be one of those happy people, with joyful tears in their eyes.

Sherlock is still, the heart monitor steadily beeping. At least he's alive, for now. _Not again, _John thinks. _I can't lose him again. _"We've pumped his stomach, he should be fine, but he'll need rest. I also suggest you get him into rehab." The voice appeared out of nowhere, and John almost jumps. _I am a soldier, I do not jump at sudden voices. _Speaking of soldier, John notices he's still wearing his uniform. Oh well, there are much more important things at stake.

"I suppose that would be in order." The soldier attempts to be unwaveringly formal and cold.

"I'll leave you two be. Someone named Mycroft Holmes called, he said he would be here shortly."

"Thank you. Mycroft is his brother, by the way."

"Oh." The doctor, whose name he didn't catch, turns on her heels and clicks out of the room.

"Sherlock? I know you're in there." The pale, gaunt man stirs, eyelids fluttering.

"Where am I? John!" Sherlock bolts up and John rushes to push him down.

"Woah, woah, woah. You just overdosed on heroine, lay back down. Yes, I'm really here. I got sent home early, they found a younger doctor and took pity on me."

"John…" The shorter man strokes Sherlock's hair and squeezes his hand.

"Shh…you should be sleeping. I just needed to make sure you knew I was here."

"Mary's really pregnant."

"What? Shit."

"You were gone six and a half months."

"Oh god. Sherlock…" 


	11. Paradise

**A/N: Parent!Lock time! **

"Why do small squishy humans cry so much?" John sighed. Amelia had only been home for three days, and Sherlock was already confused.

"Because they are babies, you walnut. They don't just come already speaking. Their brains have to develop."

"I do not appreciate you calling me a walnut, John." The soldier tried and failed to stifle his laughter. "What do you find so amusing about insulting me?"

"I'm sorry," He pauses to wheeze. "It's just…the way you speak, it's so…"

"So what?" Just then, Amelia began to cry again. She was John's shape, short and sturdy, but she already had a shock of blond hair.

"Shh… Daddy's got you." When her whimpering persisted, John began to sing. His voice was magical, smooth as caramel but not sickly sweet and flowed like a brook over pebbles. "When she was just a girl she expected the world…But it flew away from her reach…" John didn't notice the footsteps walking over to the violin. Sherlock began playing the "Paradise" melody. The blogger shot the detective a shocked look.

"So she ran away in her sleep and dreamed of para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise…" John noticed pale eyelids flutter shut. He kissed the sleeping baby's forehead softly as he gently placed her in her crib. "Goodnight, Amelia." Once they were in the living room, Sherlock spoke.

"I wasn't aware you could sing."

"It's nothing."

"John, your voice is beautiful." John blushed a deep vermillion. Suddenly, he felt Sherlock's arms wrapping around his waist. A warmth spread through his body at the taller man's touch. _Your arms are my paradise, _thought John contently.

"I…" The detective placed a kiss on his neck and he melted. "I took choir in school."

"And I took orchestra."

"I'm surprised you know of 'Paradise.'"

"Do you think I really know so little of popular culture?"

"Well, you usually scoff at it."

"I make exceptions."

"Well…then do you know 'Laughter Lines' by Bastille?"

"Perhaps." Sherlock disentangled himself from John and picked up his violin again.

"You took me to your favorite place on earth…" _His voice is like rich chocolate, _Sherlock thought. _I could get lost in all its subtle flavors. _

They sang and played, respectively, until John's voice cracked and Sherlock's hands cramped. And then they went to bed, listening to the music of Amelia breathing softly.


	12. The End of All Things

**A/N: This is going to be the final chapter of ****_The Bullet that is Love_****! It's been real. I just want to say thank you to everyone who followed and favorited this story. I love you all! Gah, I'm tearing up. A Panic! At the Disco song is the title of this chapter, all creds to them. Anyway...I just...ah...this was my first true fic, and I got so much more love than I ever thought I would. I better go before I change my mind to end this fic.**

**You can still find me, I have a teen!lock fic called ****_Duets _****and some assorted oneshots. I'll probably start a new fic soon enough, but it may be a while.**

**Thanks again!**

Sherlock woke to John's strong arm wrapped around his body, their legs tangled together. He breathed in John's spicy scent that was intertwined with his own chemical-y one. The detective could feel the faint undulating of his blogger's breathing. He couldn't help but smile at the sleeping John, lazily ruffling his hair. "Mmmph?"

"Shh, go back to sleep, love." A somewhat disgruntled John turned back on his side and quickly resumed his peaceful slumber.

Sunlight hazily shone through the window. He could hear London waking up, along with the soft stirrings of Amelia. Sherlock thought back, to before this all happened, John getting shot, him getting shot, Amelia, everything. As he shuffled through memories, he realized that he wouldn't change anything. Often, he would delete at least one memory, but now, everything was perfect. Sherlock had lived the best year of his life, good and bad all mixed together into something resembling happiness.

As he took another look at John, he knew. Something clicked in his mind that had never clicked before. He hadn't felt it until now, not quite, but in this very moment, he felt perfectly content. 


End file.
